


Pilorum

by AltoidMint (InsomniacCyanide)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Im bad at summaries, Multi, a lot of these ppl die by the way, but trust me, cause that is definitely not what this is about, hajime has a lot of love to give, i worked for half a year on this it is good, so dont worry about romantic drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniacCyanide/pseuds/AltoidMint
Summary: Utrum capillus in flavum. Nothing good stays for long.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ http://mintyfreshtodeath.tumblr.com if you wanna see more of my garbage

The idea of being in a mob was something Hajime wasn’t exactly inclined to, at least, now it wasn’t. He remembers when he was younger and more eager for his life to mean something. Hiyoko had been all too happy to offer when he had expressed an almost unhealthy need to have some semblance of recognition, to be remembered for being something other than what happened in the court rooms, and he regrets it partially.

But he can’t dwell on why he allowed himself to be pulled down into the underground when he’s being ordered around like a dog. Despite how awful it is, it gives him some sort of purpose, a reason to keep moving on even though the events of years prior play in the back of his head with a sepia static.

Hiyoko’s family had a nice aesthetic going on for it, completely legitimate as an entertainment business to outsiders, but one of the most vicious and visceral family’s now attempting to dominate the residential territory that everyone seems to be going crazy over lately. The city Saionji’s family was attempting to assimilate under their grasp was relatively new, and had only recently found itself being of worth to any of the families in power. There had been a boom in production, factories popping up everywhere, and subsequently, unions. Unions were optimal, and so were scams. Hajime could never wrap his head around the complex ghost companies the Saionji family could produce and then burn without a trace of their involvement. It was an art, a financial dance of delicacy, simply moving past the law without a thread of resistance.

It was the exact opposite of the members of the family that sat before them. Two battle-worn children with grim faces from the Kuzuryuu family. They looked perpetually tired, eyes flitting about the room the four of them sat in nervously. Hajime couldn’t blame them, as the circumstances weren’t the best. Paranoia were expected, and they always looked for an out whenever they could, and he knows they’re always dragged back in by obligation.

The Kuzuryuu family and the Saionji family were always neck and neck with each other, although their methods couldn’t be any different. The Saionji family rested on their diplomacy, their bribery, and their ability to persuade anyone to their side. The Kuzuryuu, on the other hand, revolved around the idea of force. Mahiru always spoke ill of them, but Hajime knows they just use another method of control. Along with this difference, their financial gains come from incredibly different sources. The Saionji’s rely on love for the lesser of the two evils, while the Kuzuryuu’s rely on fear. Fear was always better. Love is fickle.

The Saionji’s receive their income from unions, business shares, stocks, and other forms of financially aggressive tactics that leech off of the working populace, violence is never needed with the amount of control they have over business in their area. The Kuzuryuu family relied on much less legitimate ways of getting cash. Their income relied on drug trafficking (although they themselves did not allow personal use of narcotics of their members), corporate shakedowns, and loans with ridiculous amounts of interest. And yet, both families clawed their ways to the top over the years, securing large amounts of territory, power, and wealth. 

And that is why they sit in front of each other today, two heirs, two servants, acting as middlemen to figure out how best to resolve the dispute over a place with renewed interest, a place neither of them want to see fall into the other’s hands. While the Kuzuryuu family was violent and formidable, it protected its people, and it did so very well. Being involved with the Kuzuryuu’s and being in their good graces was a golden ticket; one could earn protection, respect, and financial aid. There were always ups and downs to these things.

Hiyoko has to pretend she’s kind, has to pretend she doesn’t want to pounce on the two before her and smash their skulls in. Which is partially why she brought Hajime, as he’s much better at negotiations than her. Hajime can tell by the way she subtly elbows him throughout the conversation. Bruising but light for an agreement, harsh and painful in the light of a disagreement. It hurts, but Hajime is used to it by now, as serving Hiyoko is essentially years of feeling just this.

Fuyuhiko had been shocked, and angry, when the meeting had first began, and he had to take a minute. Hajime felt awful for not telling him sooner, but, it was a daunting task in the first place. The two had become friends long before they knew of each other’s respective roles, and with the sparse amount of tebori tattoos they both had being covered, there was almost no way to tell. Neither of them talked about it. Hajime just hoped Fuyuhiko would still want to talk to him after this.

Peko knew, Peko always knew these things. Hajime had asked her not to tell, and she had complied. They sympathized with one another, talked about it for hours on end while sitting on a cold park bench in the harsh winter lights. Peko had a hard time opening up anywhere else, and Hajime knew the stream in that specific park was important to her, so they always just found themselves there when they needed support. He wished she got the love she desired, the love she yearned for, and he would’ve given it all to her, had he been the one Peko wanted.

But he wasn’t. Even if he was, nothing would come of it, even if he was selfish with his feelings, nothing would ever happen. Peko meant too much to him, and if she was just his friend he was perfectly fine with that. They helped each other. Hajime would always give Peko advice on how best to tell Fuyuhiko how she felt, and Peko would be the reliable stone in the river she always was. Hajime told her first about what happened with Nagito and Chiaki, she had gone to see them both with Hajime. He never really knew how to repay her for that…

He’s brought back to the present by the feeling of Hiyoko elbowing him harshly, and he almost makes a pained noise at this, but quiets it before it’s able to fall from his lips. He was staring off into space again, and probably had been quiet for quite some time, just thinking. Everyone noticed, but he did have a tendency to get lost in thought, so, with a sigh, Fuyuhiko repeats himself.

“My old man keeps asserting for an alliance in any way possible, but there just isn’t a way to do it. There’s gonna be conflict either way.” The statement is simple, but it holds a sad kind of weight to it. The oyabun of both families have conflicting desires, and are refusing to let up on their demands, Hajime can’t find a good enough compromise to handle both sides of the deal. Violence will arise out of this, and nobody in the room wants any of it to occur. Fuyuhiko doesn’t want to lose his men and put his people in danger, while Hiyoko doesn’t want to put up with the bodies and costs of such a street war. Hiyoko is already getting antsy about it.

“Why do old people ask for such ridiculous bullshit? Honestly, how they managed to keep themselves afloat without us is a fucking miracle. Seventy-five percent of gas station scam money? Is your oyabun trying to completely deplete the market and run the stores he relies on out of business?” She spits out snidely, face contorting from that innocent smile of hers into a patronizing lopsided grin. It’s something Hajime sees often.

“Well yours is trying to demand for full control of the red-light districts, which don’t even fit with how you manage your business, and none of you clearly have any experience with running an operation like that.” Fuyuhiko snaps back after a moment of silence from the shock of Hiyoko’s first real conversational input being one of such malicious intent. Hajime isn’t surprised by her outburst of hostility, but Fuyuhiko and Peko had barely talked to her at all, so he could understand their confusion. She did look far too sweet to be using the kind of language she does, but then again, looks are deceiving.

Hajime’s reminded of Nagito again, with his pale skin and soft hair and breathy light voice. Hiyoko and Nagito are different and the same, both looking completely different from their true natures. He can’t help but wince when reminded of this. Both Chiaki and him had fallen into these kinds of traps, but at least with Hiyoko she made it blatantly obvious as to who she is, Nagito… Nagito was an outlier. He should stop thinking of him.

During Hajime’s contemplation, Hiyoko and Fuyuhiko had gotten into a rather heated debate as to whose parents were dumber, and somehow they ended up arguing for the case of their own progeny, which would have been incredibly comical, had it not been for the dismal situation they found themselves in. Hajime tunes into the very last of the conversation, and can’t help but ponder on how similar they were, well, there are a lot of small differences of course. Hiyoko would have fit well into the Kuzuryuu family, as she was violent and brash, brazen and bold, and can take advantage of her appearance, while it seems Fuyuhiko would be a more intellectual leader, someone who would do much better pulling the strings from behind the curtain, with Hiyoko acting as the perfect figurehead. A figurehead with her own power of course. She wouldn’t consent to having no authority. 

“From what I’m hearing, both of you might as well be the oyabun yourselves.” Peko unwittingly voices Hajime’s thought process, finally giving her own opinion rather than parroting facts or demands from the oyabun. It’s refreshing to finally hear what she thinks after the draining process of listing off demands. After her comment, there’s a pregnant pause.

“Yeah, plus it seems like there’s a lot more support for you two than the old ones, it’d be laughably easy to just pull the rug out from under them.” Hajime’s comment is met with a devious grin from Hiyoko, and a furrowed brow from Fuyuhiko. Hajime hopes he’s seriously considering it.

The conversation takes off after Fuyuhiko nods his head in approval, and Peko begins to contribute phenomenally to the idea, so much so that they may as well have written it down. Writing it down, though, would have destroyed the plan before it could even begin. They all knew flexibility is key if they really were going to be serious about this, and making a rigid plan for it all would only make things difficult.

Fuyuhiko had looked confused and hurt throughout the whole ordeal, from the start of the meeting until the end, and Hajime can’t help but feel guilty for not saying anything. He just, doesn’t know what he could possibly say to help him. He wants to tell him all about it, how he was scared of his reaction, how he didn’t know how he would take it, how he feared for their friendship. But he can’t voice any of these anxieties, and his mouth is drawn in a thin line as he begins to sweat nervously. He can’t help it.

He hates it when he gets these feelings. He hates it because he shouldn’t rely on others to give him emotions to feel. He shouldn’t want to lean on Fuyuhiko like a crutch because damn it he has enough problems, adding an emotionally crippled Hajime to that equation would be an unnecessary evil. He doesn’t want Fuyuhiko to pity him, or to hate him, or to focus on him when there are more pressing matters. He just wants to feel okay when Fuyuhiko feels okay, but he knows that will just destroy them both.

Caring about Fuyuhiko hurts, but Hajime is used to being hurt often.  
Hiyoko hurts him, even if she’s being nice.  
Mahiru hurts him, even if she’s just attempting to understand him.  
Nagito hurt him, even if he had such a sweet smile.  
Chiaki hurt him, even if she was just trying to protect him.  
Peko hurts him, even if it’s not her fault.  
Fuyuhiko hurts him, even if he’s just smiling.

Hajime just wants Fuyuhiko to be happy, and he wants Hiyoko to be safe, and he wants Peko to feel as if she’s important. All three of them matter too much to him, and he should really separate himself before they all go like Chiaki did.

After the meeting ends, Fuyuhiko and Peko leave instantly, Fuyuhiko looking conflicted, and Peko looking concerned. Hajime can’t help but frown at the kind of pain he caused, wringing his hands together, anxiety only skyrocketing as today is one of his visitation days.

“Hey Hajime!” Hiyoko says enthusiastically, stepping out of the room daintily with a toothy grin on her face. “You should ditch him today and come eat confeito with me and Mahiru!” If Hiyoko had asked at any other time, Hajime wouldn’t have had the option to say no, but Hiyoko knows these days matter far too much to him. She still always gives him the option.

“Sorry Hiyoko. You know how it is.” He says with a pitiful excuse for a smile, eyes tired and voice strained. Today had been stressful, and he couldn’t find a reason to stick around anymore. He needed to escape all the noise, he needed to decompress. He would only be able to do it partially, as the break he’ll get will only be the car ride to prison. These visitations are why he doesn’t keep firearms with him every other Tuesday, and he guesses he should be wary as those are the days when he’s most vulnerable. But then again, his life doesn’t matter either way, especially not to Hiyoko who could have anyone she wanted right next to her. He supposes he should be flattered by this, but he’s mostly just exasperated. After all, it only takes so long of being called a slave for you to think yourself as one.

Hiyoko pouts at him, but nods and leaves, probably in high spirits as she gets Mahiru all to herself today. Hajime feels his shitty faux smile fall from his face, heart beginning to ache even before he begins the car drive to the prison. It’s awful in there, getting looked down upon by the guards for visiting such an awful human, or for having been in a relationship with said human, or being a yakuza. Originally the guards hadn’t known, but the last visit had been a strip search because he forgot to leave his pocket knife in the car like a moron (he can almost hear Hiyoko’s shrill voice chewing him out for it from that week when Mahiru had told her what happened), and they had seen the slowly developing tebori art.

He had been embarrassed, but saved face. He only hoped word hadn’t gotten around, because that would only make this visitation feel even more nerve wracking. He hates it when news about him travels indirectly. He really hates it when he hears that laugh, he hates it so fucking much.

His hands shake as he unlocks his car, opening the door and sliding in with a sigh. He doesn’t start the car, just sits in the driver's seat and stares at the ceiling of his beaten down vehicle with its cigarette smoke stains and discolored tarp from years of misuse. He feels numb for a while, before the angry tears start rolling down his face in fat droplets. His eyes sting as he clenches them shut tightly, and tries to hide them behind his hands.

He doesn’t even know why he bothers anymore.

The second he walks into the prison he feels eyes trained on him. He’s forced to do a strip search again, as they now find him suspicious enough for that. He sighs when he finally reaches the rows of plexiglass and greasy black telephones. The faded yellow paint along the walls on his side is chipping and scorched. The wall on the other side is of painted brick and cement, paint not chipping, but there are certainly chips in the walls from grotesque outbursts. He remembers seeing one while here, and he can still hear the laughs echo in his skull.

He feels a headache coming on as he sits down in the metal folded chair, hand picking up the disgusting telephone in his hand and bringing it to his ear. He’s already got his own telephone to his ear, smiling in a pleasant way that masks the malice Hajime can see seething under the skin.

“Hello Hinata.” So they’re back to last names are they? Hajime can’t accept that.

“Hi Nagito.” Hajime responds, head and heart pounding in tune as he looks at the pasty pale man behind the glass. Nagito looks pleasantly surprised by the use of first names, but Hajime can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s angry. Nagito’s one hand taps on the table in a rhythm that feels threatening even though it’s just a simple beat, nothing remotely cruel. Yet, Hajime can feel himself begin to shake. After what Nagito did, Hajime doesn’t think he’ll ever feel okay during these visitations.

“Now you’re just confirming that you’re even worse than garbage like me.” 

And there it is. Hajime closes his eyes, feeling all the emotions from earlier today flood to the forefront of his mind, demanding attention as Nagito begins to prattle off on how disgusting such a display is, how he’s disappointed that such a useful tool resorted to such low levels, how sad it was to see him again and that he expected Hajime to at least have a little dignity and not pretend to still be a respectable human being.

He knows, he knows with all his heart that Nagito is lying. Nagito always lies when he’s under pressure, when he’s behind the glass. It always feels too real, to hear him say all these awful hurtful things. Nagito never used to say these things about him, but a month before the incident, something had just pulled him thin. Nagito was sick, and sickly looking, and Hajime was never mad for long, even if he was deeply hurt every single time he came to visit. He just couldn’t find it in himself to abandon Nagito. Even now, when he knows the words he says go in one ear and out the other. Even now, when he still supports this person he loved so dearly, although they keep stabbing him.

The person behind the glass isn’t Nagito, and couldn’t possibly be him. Yes, Nagito was unstable, and ill physically and mentally, but he wasn’t like this. He was never something so viscous.

“Goodbye Komaeda.” Hajime says curtly, slamming the grimy telephone back in it’s place and standing abruptly. Nagito is laughing, and although the glass is soundproof and he’s turned around already, he can still hear the laugh in his head, the sadistic twisted laugh.

It’s the laugh he heard as he was screaming through a gag.  
It’s the laugh he heard as Chiaki’s blood pooled around the feet he could only stare at with horror.  
It’s the laugh he heard when there was a knife in his chest and tears in his eyes.  
It’s the laugh he heard as he fell into despair.

He doesn’t even make it to the car before he starts breaking down. That damn laugh is back and his head is pounding and his heart aches and there’s a lump in his throat and oh god he can’t breathe. He’s feeling too emotional. He can’t have a panic attack in the gated fucking parking lot he’s like ten feet from his car, he has to get home and he has to stop thinking about this. He has to do this in a place where he won’t be embarrassed.

He knows someone is at his car, but he can’t bother, he can’t think straight as his head starts swimming. His vision is going blurry and his muscles contract in odd ways and he thinks he may be passing out. There is the sound of feet crunching on the gravel, and there’s something trying to be a part of his vision but he can’t tell what it is.

He suddenly feels hands on him, gripping at his shoulders harshly and shaking and shaking. He still can’t breathe even if he’s gasping for air and trying to focus on the hands on his shoulders. He tries, he tries, but all he can think of is when Nagito- no, Komaeda kicked him while he was down and made him watch as he cut off his own hand with a demented grin. All he can think of is Komaeda laughing.

Most of all he thinks about how he doesn’t know why.

He sees so much blood and carnage and pain. He sees Chiaki’s calm face as she tried to approach Komaeda like he was a wild animal. He sees Komaeda turn on her like she had backed him up into a corner. He sees her face contort in confusion and betrayal, and someone she had loved equally and with fervor, slowly murders her over the course of a week in front of another person she held to the same respect. He sees her smile knowingly with that same tired look she always had, as she slips away.

And then he sees Fuyuhiko, in the gravel laden gated prison parking lot, with an expression that just screams concern and confusion and heartbreak. He told Peko not to tell about what happened or who he sees inside, but he doesn’t think he told her not to tell about when and where he goes. Maybe that’s why Fuyuhiko is here even when he has other, more serious, issues to put up with. He’s just another problem Fuyuhiko doesn’t need to worry about.

“Damn it! Hajime get out of your fucking head!”

The words sound garbled, and he’s being pulled towards the sleek black car used to transport Fuyuhiko and Peko around. Hajime fumbles as he begins to resist. He panics, his hands reach up and push the one trying to drag him away. He needs to get home, no, he needs to feel safe, he needs Peko and the bench, and he needs to allow himself to emote.

He can’t do any of that with Fuyuhiko there.

So he pushes him away. Fuyuhiko looks angry, and Hajime can tell he’s angry. He feels awful, taking a few steps back to put enough distance between them both so he doesn’t get hit. He should be more confrontational, he knows, but he can’t. Fuyuhiko looks ready to explode, all the emotions from today blending into one tired expression across his face, and Hajime knows he has to make it clear.

“Please… not today. I’m sorry. Not today.” He says, trying to choke down his complete defeat, but he knows he gave it away somehow, judging by the look Fuyuhiko gives him.

He doesn’t stick around to see what happens next when he finds himself in his car and on the way to his house. His hands shake, he can barely see through the haze that’s taken over, and the second his hits the bed he passes out, not even bothering with sending Hiyoko his usual text goodnight and prompt for the next schedule to add in. He doesn’t bother with asking Mahiru how her day went, or calling Peko to see if she’s spoken up about her feelings yet.

He just wants to sleep today away. He wants it to melt into one big vague feeling. He never wants to think about the way Fuyuhiko looked at him with such questioning eyes, he never wants to think about the way Komaeda tore him open without even laying a finger on him, and he never wants to think about how he falls in love too fucking easy.

He had loved Chiaki. Chiaki loved him.  
He had loved Nagito. Komaeda loved him once.  
He had loved the way Komaeda and Chiaki loved each other. They both had loved him.  
He had loved Peko. Peko did not love him.  
He had loved Fuyuhiko. Fuyuhiko had a hard time loving.

He still loves a lot of them. But it hurts when he knows they probably would have been better off without his interference. He should have just stayed put. He shouldn’t have talked to Chiaki, and he shouldn’t have kept talking with Komaeda. He should’ve just let them both be. Maybe Chiaki would have been alive. Maybe Komaeda wouldn’t be so messed up.

In his sleep, he can’t help but selfishly think that at least Hiyoko is still alive because of him. This line of thought is particularly awful, but he wants to bring himself up in any way possible, even subconsciously. He’s searching for something, but he doesn’t know what anymore.

The next month goes by in a haze, there’s nothing of importance happening as Hiyoko and him do their usual menial tasks. Mahiru joins them most days, so Hiyoko is in especially high spirits. Hiyoko is always ecstatic when Mahiru joins them. It’s always fun when Mahiru comes, but she’s usually complaining about how she’s not allowed to take photos when going out with the two of them, and can never capture their natural smiles.

Hajime feels bad for having to cut her off from their smiles, but he has to do what he must in order to keep Hiyoko safe. Mahiru always complains, but he doesn’t think she really means it. Sometimes he thinks that she likes being selfish and keeping their happiness all to herself. He doesn’t blame her for being selfish like that, because he knows Hiyoko’s true smile is rare. Mahiru says his is rare as well, practically impossible to capture, and he can’t help but feel sad about that.

He wants to smile for Mahiru’s photos and have them actually be smiles. He wants to laugh with Hiyoko and Mahiru and not feel a deep unsettling shift within himself as he pretends to be happy. He wants to feel genuine joy.

He’s not sure where or with who he felt it with to know what it is, but he does know it’s there. Somewhere. 

Fuyuhiko is on a talking basis with him again as the month goes by. They don’t talk about that day, that horrible day. Hajime still visits Komaeda, even if it gets more painful every time. It’s agony sitting in front of that glass while Komaeda cackles and laughs and wheezes and rips him to shreds without ever reaching through the glass. His head hurts every time he visits, and his heart sinks lower and lower and lower.

Nothing advances emotionally. The plan advances considerably. Peko says Fuyuhiko’s parents have all but given up on running the family for themselves, indulging in their own ideas of personal happiness as Peko is required to do more mentally challenging tasks than simply being used as a piece on the chessboard. Hajime is happy for her, saying she’s finally been promoted from a pawn to a bishop, and that one day she’ll be the queen.

Peko laughs at this for some reason, and shakes her head. The bench begins to creak when they sit down on it. They both blame the weather, instead of the creeping fear that they’re getting older, and so is the bench. The bench had been around since they’d met, and it would kill them both if it decayed. It keeps getting colder, but they’re both okay with that. Their breaths are visible now, and it's cathartic to watch the heat dissipate into the air as the chill takes a hold of it.

Peko seems off when they sit together on the bench, as if she was in a lucid dream or something similar. She looks at him differently, is a step away from the situation, and doesn’t talk as much as she used to. He knows she has her quiet days but this was different. On Peko’s quiet days it was obvious that she was upset. Right now, she just seemed far away, drifting off into a place she can never return from.

“Peko…?” Hajime prompts with worry in his tone. He’s tired, and he’s concerned for her. He cares about her, even if that’s probably the worst thing he can do, because she was there. She was always there.

He doesn’t know why she puts so much effort in.

“Hajime…do you…” She stiffens, the pause makes him nervous. He wants to know what’s making her so withdrawn, so guarded. “Do you think I’m not good enough?”

“What do you mean, Peko?” He asks, brows furrowing together as a frown travels down his face. These feelings contaminate the area, and he hates how his heart jumps. He needs to learn to not fall in love so easily with so many people. He loved too much, he cared too much, he had too much to give and so much to lose. Komaeda took away so much, and Chiaki dragged even more down into the depths with her, but he still had more. He got so much, and yet he was still being greedy.

“I keep trying to ask Fuyuhiko to do things with me, and even if he has time off or is taking a break, he keeps refusing. The tasks are nothing taxing, just food or coffee. And I’m…not sure why he’s refusing. Am I that unbearable?”

“Peko, no. You’re not unbearable. You’re amazing. He’s probably just stressed out over the stuff we have planned.” He responds, trying to calm her down. The fact that Teruteru and the imposter have died goes without saying. They don’t talk about it. Her eyes are understanding. 

It appears to work, but she’s still off. Peko is still outside of his reach. He wants to desperately claw for her attention, beg for her to look at him for a moment for her own happiness, or someone else. He wants her to smile for someone who will smile back with the same level of intense affection she can harbor. He wishes it were him, but he doesn’t really care if it’s him or not.

He wants everyone to be happy.

From there on, Peko is never that distant again. She’s more open, more earnest, and it’s relieving. Fuyuhiko continues talking with Hajime, and it makes things feel so much better. Peko suggests inviting Fuyuhiko to their bench, since there’s enough extra space, and Hajime agrees of course. Whatever to make Peko happy, he’ll do. Whatever it takes.

Plans get set back, bumps in the road are formed. Fuyuhiko’s sister, Natsumi, dies at the hands of Mahiru’s close friend Sato, and Peko must go for them both. They never get to sit together, the three of them, on that creaking bench. Hiyoko will never get to give Mahiru the gift she had been saving for her birthday, Hiyoko will never trust Fuyuhiko, Peko will never smile that same smile at him again.

He feels empty.

The harsh words Komaeda says to him feels all too real when he visits in the smoky blotch of nothing that follows Peko’s death. He stops talking with the people that do care about him, his eyes trained on being of help to someone. Hiyoko verbally abuses him more often during work, and Komaeda gets worse as time goes on and, it hurts so much but it’s the only familiarity he has now that Peko is gone.

He still goes to the bench, every week. He goes there without fail, in wind or rain or snow or hurt. He’s always there. He can’t get his head around the whole of his life. Chiaki is dead, Komaeda is in high-security prison for mental patients, Natsumi is dead, Mahiru and Sato were traitorous and both dead, Peko was gone too, Hiyoko was enraged, and then, Fuyuhiko. God, Fuyuhiko.

Hajime had been keeping his distance, fearing Fuyuhiko’s reaction. He supposes that makes him look at lot guiltier than he truly is, but he didn’t want to mess things up further. Hajime can’t focus on anything but death. If Peko could die, then who’s to say that he couldn’t? Who’s to say that Fuyuhiko couldn’t?

He will lose his shit if even one more person he knows dies.

He tries not to think about it. He thinks about what Peko likes. She liked soft things. Certain things can be soft. Soft things can be comforting. Fuyuhiko’s hands are soft, uncalloused and small. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t worked a day in his life no, he probably just moisturizes a lot and doesn’t really care much for fighting in the first place. Hajime knows it has to be a necessity, but doesn't take Fuyuhiko as one to just go charging in blindly because he’s too hot headed. Fuyuhiko wasn’t ever explicitly violent, in fact, he prefered diplomacy instead of making rash decisions for his own personal gain. Hajime admired him, but he tries not to show it. Giving too much praise to Fuyuhiko always made him embarrassed.

Fuyuhiko always seemed too politically balanced to be a gangster, Hajime had met him in high school, through Natsumi, and hung out with him, completely unaware, or uncaring now that he thinks about it, of the dangers the Kuzuryuu family faced. It wouldn’t be the first time his life had been in peril because he refused to give up on someone he cared about. Nagito comes to mind, and he pushes that down within an instant. Fuyuhiko and Nagito were not the same, and never would be. He chooses to think about the good things he and Fuyuhiko have. “The Ultimate Counselor” is a title he didn’t really want, but accepted as a friendly joke between him and Fuyuhiko.

He really does care too much.

With the absence of Peko, he and Fuyuhiko don’t talk as much. Hajime can barely form words around him now, and that just makes Fuyuhiko angry. Fuyuhiko doesn’t want pity, that’s evident from the way he talks and acts and just is. Hajime isn’t giving him pity, he isn’t patronizing or telling Fuyuhiko to move on, because he knew Peko, he loved Peko almost as much as Fuyuhiko had, and her absence leaves a dull ache where his feelings used to be. But with how things were, Hajime knew it sounded like pity.

It doesn’t matter who it is, death hits just as hard with anyone. Chiaki’s death had been agonizing, and he’d been an emotional wreck for the entirety of Komaeda’s trial. Komaeda had just smiled, pleasant and unaffected by the world. Hajime could barely stand it, knowing that the Nagito he loved and trusted wasn’t in there anymore; knowing someone had reached in and taken their clawed fingers and twisted his Nagito up inside and morphed him into something perverse and wrong. It was all wrong.

Peko is gone as well, and he can feel Fuyuhiko twisting up inside just like Nagito had, and he can’t let that happen, even if he’s too numbed out by the deaths he sees around him to fully feel the anguish. All he can do is hope for the best, and that’s it. Hoping for the best is so easy, but in the back of his head he still expects the worst. He expects Fuyuhiko to push him farther away, to let Hajime crawl back to Hiyoko’s side and remain as her guard dog. Mahiru’s gone too, and days with Hiyoko are even worse. He can’t handle it. He doesn’t understand why any of this had to happen.

He visits Fuyuhiko, quiet and subdued. He’s prepared to be shot on sight, kicked to the curb, what have you. He’s prepared to despair as that’s all he knows now, that’s all he can possibly do. He doesn’t want to lose Fuyuhiko, he doesn’t want to lose the sight of his eyes or the sound of his voice or the way his moods fluctuate in such a smooth curve. He doesn’t want to lose the way they sit together in a cafe and watch the pedestrians on the street and make up crude stories about their lives and where they’re going. He doesn’t want to ever lose the happiness, the small shreds of happiness, he feels when he talks to Fuyuhiko.

Fuyuhiko answers him, and Hajime is overjoyed to simply talk to him again. The lack of emotion in the back of his head dissipates, and he can talk normally again, if only for a little while. Fuyuhiko is a shell of a human being, but he’s nothing if courteous. Fuyuhiko has a medical eyepatch now, no doubt from Mikan. Hajime almost cries at the sight of it. They talk, and continue talking, for as long as they can. Hiyoko’s been slacking off on running her family, and Fuyuhiko’s been raising in popularity among the domestic and foreign family populaces. They talk about Hiyoko’s steady decline, they talk about Mikan and her ideals, they talk about Sonia’s odd dialect, they talk about Souda’s obsession, they talk about Gundam’s hamsters, they talk about so much but it’s still not enough. Fuyuhiko offers to let him spend the night.

He can’t decline, he can never ever decline.

Not that he doesn’t want to stay, no he revels in any second he gets to spend with Fuyuhiko, any singular moment with him allows him to breathe. He just doesn’t want to be a reminder of Peko. He doesn’t want to cause any pain, and he certainly doesn’t want to royally mess up and say something out of line. Even then, he knows Fuyuhiko’s boundaries, but he doesn’t know his own. He doesn’t know if he’ll break, and he can’t ever break in front of Fuyuhiko, because Fuyuhiko’s suffered enough without Hajime’s problems on his shoulders as well.

They both just need the distraction right now. They just need to get a foothold in reality, they just need to feel real. They meet in the middle, they talk, they lay on the floor of Fuyuhiko’s startlingly neat room and stare at the dusty ceiling and mull over their existence. Fuyuhiko asks why they’ve never been to Hajime’s house together. Hajime can’t reply, and his eyes close as he tries to find an answer that Fuyuhiko will find acceptable. His lack of an answer is more concerning than anything he could’ve said, but they find a way to get past it.

“You don’t still live with your parents, do you?” Fuyuhiko asks awkwardly, half of a smug smirk trying to force his way into his face.

Hajime can’t help but laugh at this, drawing himself out of his thoughts. He doesn’t know why he never invited Fuyuhiko to his house. Maybe it’s the idea that it’ll taint anyone who stays under its roof. He thinks anyone who enters the threshold to his home ends up ruined in some way, and the fact that he hadn’t snapped under pressure yet was just it’s way of torturing him before sliding the rug out from under his feet. This is how fate works, he’s sure of it, as he shakes his head at Fuyuhiko’s comment, bright smile betraying the turmoil rolling in his gut.

Fuyuhiko smiles and those perverse thoughts fade from him as if they never were. Hajime doesn’t think of anything else but making that smile show up again. He tries to ignore the sadness weighing him down like weights in his pocket. He remembers putting weights in his pockets during check-ups, after the incident initially occurred. He just wanted to mourn in peace, without having to eat regularly. He didn’t know how to function without two of the most important people in his life being there.

He pushes away any thoughts like that one, he swallows them down even if their taste is bitter and doesn’t do anything to mend what’s been done. He doesn’t want to acknowledge them, because admitting they exist isn’t going to fix them, so he doesn’t bother. He doesn’t bother to think about how he used to be, or how empty he feels now, with a certain sadness in his gut as the absence of so many people in his life. He doesn’t want to remember how blissful everyone’s lives would have been had he just not existed. So, he doesn’t. He gives Fuyuhiko a smile in return, a smile that manages to be genuine despite the circumstances.

They fall asleep clutching their guts and laughing and slipping away into the seething black that is their subconscious. Fuyuhiko always has nightmares, and Hajime always has night terrors. They don’t talk about them when they wake each other up with their screams, and they don’t mention it again when Fuyuhiko has to shake Hajime out from whatever is plaguing him this night. It’s Chiaki’s rotting corpse hanging from the ceiling while Komaeda drags Peko into the corner Chiaki used to corrode in. But, that’s not important.

What’s important is that he’s breathing, and so is Fuyuhiko. They can both make it, because Fuyuhiko’s family is still in power, and Fuyuhiko is still advancing, although he’s already long gained more power than his parents. They’re both alive, and although Peko and Mahiru and Natsumi and Chiaki are dead, they can still remember them, and be not okay, but still be able to stay afloat. They can stay afloat. Hajime has buoyancy in situations like these, he can’t fall into despair because he can’t. He has too many responsibilities to allow himself to despair. He has to protect Hiyoko, and he has to visit Komaeda, and he has to do his job, and he has to do all this and continue to stay himself. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to stand on his own, a crumbling pillar. He’s still more stable than any of his friends, feet firmly planted in reality. Hope and despair are interconnected, but he can’t think about either of them when he has too much on his plate.

Fuyuhiko has spare time, not a lot, but spare time. Hajime knows Fuyuhiko will contemplate these things if given enough time. He knows he’ll think about Peko and how much she meant to him, and he’ll think about Mahiru’s betrayal, and he’ll think about Sato’s malice, and he’ll think about Natsumi’s death, and he’ll think about his own shortcomings. Hajime knows he’ll think all those things he feels eating away inside him as well, and he just can’t let that pull him under. He simply can’t allow it.

So he decides he’ll eat away at Fuyuhiko’s free time. He’ll occupy the space that’s there and add it to his responsibilities. Because he has to. He has to protect the people in his life now, even if the people that used to be in his life aren’t around anymore because of his involvement with them. He wants to make amends. He can’t think of any other way to fix what he’s done. Granted, he doesn’t know what he’s done, but he knows all of this had to be caused by the fact that he’s around these people, these glorious people who deserved so much better than him.

It's odd, because his entire social circle has shifted where it had stagnated years ago. He’d grown up around Chiaki and Nagito and he’d been perfectly content with how things were in that regard. He was happy with just those two in his life, even if Nagito was something of an enigma to him. Even with how Nagito was right now, he was still the most familiar thing Hajime had.

Komaeda and Nanami had always just been. They’d always taken their spots in Hajime’s life as they were and he could never stop being grateful for that. The three of them had been comfortable with each other from the day they met, little kids running around and doing errands for other people because they don’t know how to say no. They stuck together like that.

It had been simple, because although their interests grew apart in some aspects, there was always still that same root from before. Chiaki was always good at pulling them all together, and she was the one to introduce Hajime and Nagito to the others as well. Chiaki was good at holding people who by all intents and purposes, shouldn’t even give each other the time of day. Sonia wouldn’t have known any of them had Chiaki not met her, Souda would still be in a house he hates, Gundam would be lonely, Nidai and Akane would’ve never met. And yet, Haijme can’t help but feel everything would have been better had she not been there.

Chiaki was a beacon of hope, a beautiful fixture that everyone looked to for support, someone everyone could trust. She was still human. She still had faults. She still could die.  
And that’s what she did. She died.

It’s still hard to wrap his head around. It’s still hard for him to swallow down. It’s a harsh reality that leaves an empty ache in his chest. Every time he goes home, the two people that had swallowed his entire existence whole aren’t there. He doesn’t feel like a human being anymore, mostly because he isn’t. Yes, he retains the human form, the human shape, the human body, but he doesn’t think he can feel like a normal human again. 

When Teruteru killed the imposter on accident, he had been distraught. Ibuki had bawled her eyes out, completely and utterly destroyed. The knife had been meant for him, the survivor of an incident no one aside from a select few should know of. Peko had looked on in disgust, holding onto the two people she could trust and wrenching them away from the scene. Fuyuhiko, indignant and angry; and Hajime, hollow and heartbroken by the absence of a third friend. And then a fourth, as the mobsters surrounding him held not enough sympathy to leave Teruteru in the hands of the law. The detective's eyes as she stared at Hajime, another witness to another tragic event, showed nothing but sympathy. She was not allowed to further investigate the case.

When Natsumi died, Hajime hadn’t been there. He’d been with Hiyoko, buying her confeito and rolling his eyes as she giddily pointed out other girls faults. He had been sitting on a park bench with her, nowhere near the one he had shared with Peko, and telling her not to be so mean to Mikan. He wasn’t there when Peko had to cut down both Mahiru and Sato. But he had been there when Hiyoko had screamed in fury and demanded for Fuyuhiko’s death in return, eyes wide with fear at the prospect of even more death in return. He was terrified. Peko had offered her life. He shook with anxiety. Peko was more than just a tool. She was more than just a piece of meat with a sword. She was Peko Pekoyama, someone to love, someone who loved, and someone who had thoughts and emotions and experiences. Her death had hurt. The detective had regarded him warily then, lilac eyes hardened from the last time he’d seen her. She had been suspicious of him, but he understood, and she was not allowed to further investigate this case either. 

Hiyoko isn’t the same when Mahiru is gone. She becomes more viscous, and Hajime can barely keep her under control. He has to reel her in more. He has to give her incentives to still work with Fuyuhiko after everything. He has to go out of his way to make her happy and content. He doesn’t have time to visit Komaeda anymore, Hiyoko won’t let him out of her sight. His health is crippled by it. He can’t visit Fuyuhiko. He can’t visit Komaeda. He can’t visit the bench to mourn Peko and talk with her ghost. He can’t even go get the strong painkillers he needs from Mikan, who he senses a certain familiar feeling from. Mikan acts like Nagito acted before he became Komaeda. He couldn’t help but shrink back from her when he did visit. The blonde strands are back. He doesn’t know where they come from. He assumes Hiyoko, but they seem far too pale and coarse. He chooses to forget them, and the small splotches of blood around her mouth.

He has more important things to consider. He has to keep Hiyoko in check. She lashes out more, dragging anyone close to her into the torrentus cycle. She destroys all she can around her, dragging Hajime to parks just so that she can smash the flowers beneath her feet. He watches as she ignores every duty she has. He watches as she pulls his hair and throws words at him he knows she doesn’t really mean. He watches and never says a word, because he knows he has to let Hiyoko get it out. It’s how she deals with grief. He ignores his own aching heart, and he lets her throw her tantrum. 

Her power slips from her tiny wavering hands, and Hajime has no control over what follows. He can’t stop Hiyoko from murdering her grandmother, or stop himself from following Hiyoko’s command to murder her mother. He kills the woman swiftly, and Hiyoko commands him once more, telling him to put her father out of his misery before he wakes up to his wife dead. He does as told, always. She is in control, the plan to quietly and subtly take over from the inside is dashed to the ground, and Hiyoko has a look in her eyes that screams of Komaeda. He almost goes for her as well, to spare her from the shame that will come from doing the drastic actions he knows she’s considering. 

In the end, neither of them get the chance to do what they intend to, because Mikan snaps before Hiyoko can really do the damage she wants to do. 

Hajime isn’t there, because he’s finally visiting Komaeda again. He isn’t there when Hiyoko yanks at Mikan’s hair while an Ibuki on the cusp of fainting attempts to split them up. He’s staring at Komaeda’s swirling eyes that twinkle with a cruel pleasure derived from Hajime’s own pain. He knew something Hajime didn’t, and that was far more terrifying than any horrible truths brought to light. Awful, terrible things were just as they are, awful and terrible, but not knowing what something was, and having someone else know, was the worst feeling. 

He doesn’t know, he didn’t know, when Ibuki’s frail body from the sickness was slung up by Mikan’s already bloodied hands. He didn’t know when Hiyoko’s corpse was being taped up and hidden behind wallpaper. Sonia had found Ibuki’s dangling body, called for help, and returned to find Hiyoko as well. Hajime wasn’t even able to see them. He wasn’t even allowed to watch them be taken away on gurneys. He wasn’t there when Mikan, no no, Tsumiki now, was being cuffed and dragged away kicking and screaming; screaming about a beloved no one had ever even heard before. He was just staring at those same eyes that had held him captive with Chiaki for weeks on end. 

He still has nightmares about those weeks. Weeks spent with Chiaki coughing up her insides as Nagito slowly went insane, eyes always swirling with mirth. He can barely sleep, knowing that in his own apartment, Chiaki had died right next to him, and he’d nearly bled out himself before Hiyoko and Mahiru had busted the door down with Akane’s help. He’d been faint, fading in and out of reality as Komaeda had stopped feeding him three days prior. He remembers the dried blood on his face, the clogging of his most basic functions, he remembers all those nights spent staring at the ceiling as his circulation was practically cut off by the bindings that had started to feel like another part of his body at that point. He knows Komaeda had been violent, having seen the way his decaying body spasmed in response to Mahiru grabbing him by the arm, and Akane holding him in a chokehold. Hiyoko had screamed, and Mahiru had instantly called the police after her scuffle with Komaeda. 

The worst part was the way they looked at him. Akane, Mahiru and Hiyoko had all seen their friend in a horrible position, but the detectives had seen him as weak. He had made the three of them swear not to talk about the incident, had them promise not to tell a single soul, especially not Peko. God, Peko would’ve had Komaeda’s head on a platter if she had found out the details. He had told her the summary, later on, when things were done and over with. But then, it had been different. As bad as the treatment had been, as awful and painful as it was to be hurt so badly by someone he cared so endlessly for, he couldn’t bear to see Komaeda go as well. He couldn’t possibly function with that familiar part of his life gone.

Which is why he had begged Komaeda’s lawyer to plead insanity. 

Two of the people who had promised secrecy were now dead. Akane never talked about it. And he was grateful. He doesn’t know what he would do if word got out about it, and he’d been sure to stoop to whatever level he had to in order to keep everything as contained as possible. He’d been terrified.

And now Mikan had fallen into the same pit as Komaeda had. He couldn’t be close to her anymore, because she reeked of what Komaeda had reeked of. She was Tsumiki now. She was vicious and vulgar and deplorable. She wasn’t what she was before. She had laughed, the jury’s verdict never reached her ears. Execution was her punishment. She committed suicide long before the date was even on the horizon. The circumstances of her death were suspicious, but at this point, everyone involved thought it for the better. 

Hiyoko had left her family in shambles, no longer an oyabun, and every higher up that attempted to grab power was torn down within a moments notice. No one advanced, and no one wanted to retreat. There was a shift, and the city everyone had been fighting for became obsolete as the streets under the Saionji’s control became horrid. Hajime knew his place, and had never made any attempts to move up, but the second he learned many yakuza underlings were shifting over to the Kuzuryuu clan, he thought it best to try to start anew there. He needs the direction, the drive, he’s not a leader. 

So when Fuyuhiko asks for him to share sake with him, he doesn’t refuse. 

Of course, he could never refuse Fuyuhiko in the first place. He knows Fuyuhiko and Hiyoko are different. He knows that when Fuyuhiko asks something of him it’s always an option, not a demand, but it’s hard to recall that when Hiyoko had been with him for so long. She had been his drive, she had given him a reason to keep going after Peko had disappeared from his palms. He nearly smacks himself when he thinks about it. He can’t keep on relying on people for his emotional stability. He’d been too much of a burden on Peko, and she had her own cross to bear. Nagito used to always talk about how he couldn’t possibly talk about his issues, because it would be too much of a burden for others and he didn’t want to cause anymore suffering.

Hajime finds the irony laughable. He can almost hear Nagito’s willowy voice, hollow and lilting, drifting through the living room. He can smell Chiaki’s tea wafting through his nose, and hear Nagito laughing in that stupidly pleasant yet dismissive way when Chiaki refutes with her typical optimism and care. The scene shifts, and he has to dash away any remaining presence of them, because it always morphs itself into something painful to view.

It melts away when he finally sits down next to Fuyuhiko, who talks to him as if everything is normal. It puts an ease on him, lulls him into a false sense of security. Even then, it’s better than jumping at any sudden noise. Then again, he still jumps at the slightest sound that rises above the same dull background noise the other patrons create. He recognizes some faces from Hiyoko’s old gang, the one that may as well just be a memory now. The underground moves fast, and if you don’t adapt to its changes you get forgotten. Getting left behind is always worse than dying young. 

Fuyuhiko always places a soft brush of the fingers against Hajime’s arms when he drifts off, either due to panic or trailing thoughts that wind him around the same logic, and he’s grateful for the consideration. Fuyuhiko isn’t comfortable with casual touches, and Hajime knows that Fuyuhiko is going out of his way to accommodate him. The reason exactly, is unclear to him at present, but it’s still humbling. The smile that faded away long before he knew it had left his muscle memory returns, dancing across his features when Fuyuhiko makes a particularly scathing comment about someone in the crowds wardrobe choice. His laugh feels painful now, with bruised ribs from regular fights and his own neglect of his body. His tebori art is nearly finished now, and he’ll be starting a new section in about a month, to honor Fuyuhiko, and those who have died, even more within the lines of near poisonous ink. The red is always disorientating to add to his skin. It’s much more painful than the other inks, because it’s that much more toxic. He continues though, because it’s important to him to be able to do at least this for Fuyuhiko. 

Fuyuhiko starts the sake sharing ceremony, and ends it as swiftly as possible with executive precision. Hajime went through the motions with a bright twinkle in his eyes, and a stoic everything else. It was like breathing again. He had felt so suffocated for so long and he had no idea why Fuyuhiko was such a balm to the burns. He shouldn’t depend on him too, because there’s no telling what kind of tragedy could befall them both in this cutthroat business. It’d be painful, that’s for sure, but as the parasite he is, the leech he’s become, he’d just latch on to someone new. Maybe Souda. Maybe Sonia. Maybe Akane. Maybe Nidai. Maybe Gundam. Maybe even Komaeda should he lose all else. He’s awful, he realizes, smiling among people that for all he cares could die tomorrow. He couldn’t give a rats ass about any of them. Fuyuhiko sat himself above the rest, and Hajime knows he has to distance himself before the horrible plague that consumes him spreads to Fuyuhiko as well. Fuyuhiko mattered more than the rest. Fuyuhiko didn’t deserve the horror the would follow Hajime getting close to him.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but he knows he’s the source. He can feel it when the room shifts around him in a spiral as a glimpse of coarse blonde hair sends him reeling. He freezes up, body stopping him from the embarrassment of passing out in public. The shimmering faux of the hair that eludes his vision is a reminder of every horrible thing that’s happened so far. Every horrid incident that eats away at his insides resides in that bad dye job and he wants to rip it clean off the cackling man’s collar as a clump sticks to his suit. The cackling man's eyes gleam with something malicious. He wants to pull the hair off and punch whoever he is in the face, rip the clump to shreds, and make sure it never touches another soul. He doesn’t touch it. He doesn’t move. His lungs rise and collapse at a pace unhealthy for his already weak body. He can’t get enough oxygen to his brain to acknowledge Fuyuhiko tugging him away from the crowd. The hands that wrap around his arm ground him once more, but this time it’s not light and feathery. 

Fuyuhiko is never rough with Hajime, never once at all cruel. He doesn’t derive pleasure from other people’s suffering like Hiyoko had. Fuyuhiko doesn’t hug him. He doesn’t do explicit affection, especially when there are so many people that could possibly see. Fuyuhiko is a private person, and prefers his affairs stay just that, his. So when Hajime feels him placing a firm hand on his shoulder, he can’t help but snap out of his thoughts. It’s hard not to pull away out of disgust. Fuyuhiko was tarnishing himself by even being near Hajime in the first place, but he commands himself to still, to relish in the moment. Because he’s selfish like that. 

Fuyuhiko tells him to wait in his room, and that he’ll return when he can get everyone out. Hajime complies. He can’t refuse. He’s incapable of it now. He’s been conditioned to blindly follow, and to never ask why he does the things he does. He can’t help it. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Well, obviously he knew what was wrong, he could make a list really. But he doesn’t know why. He just wanted to know why. 

Fuyuhiko doesn’t return for a while, and Hajime gets restless. Light footsteps finally reach his ears after what feels like ages. Hajime itches to escape, to leave and take off. The footsteps stop at the door, and the pause there causes Hajime’s anxiety to crawl back up his throat. The door creaks open, and his foot taps against the cold wooden floor. 

Fuyuhiko is shadowed by the lilac detective, and a smaller figure that looks shaken, but determined. The lilac detective regards him with caution, and his confusion is evident. He looks to Fuyuhiko for an answer, but he finds none. Nothing but the same mirrored expression. 

Hajime learns not much later, with Fuyuhiko at his side, that Gundam had murdered Nidai. He can barely process the information. Sure, Gundam had always been weird and odd, and somewhat intimidating, but he had never been violent. Gundam had been kind and soft and overly concerned with everyone else in his own way. Sonia stays strong during his trial, during which he pleads guilty, but she falls apart the moment she’s out of the courthouse. Gundam’s reasoning was clear. Nidai had begun to show the same look in his eyes that Mikan had shown, the same Gundam had seen before Hiyoko and Ibuki’s murders. It sounded completely insane to the rest of the court, but to the few who had been witness to the grisly acts that had begun to spread through their friends like a virus, it was understandable. It didn’t stop Souda’s disgust. It didn’t stop Fuyuhiko’s disappointment. It didn’t stop Sonia’s panicked scratching of the bench in front of her when the verdict was decided to be death, due to the way Nidai was killed so brutally. He had only just received an artificial heart to hold him off until he could get a transplant that would most likely help bring his career back. Gundam had stabbed him with a syringe filled with air, introduced air into the bloodstream, let the heart attack that followed such an act occur naturally, and desecrated the corpse with an axe. It went without saying that Hajime thought Gundam had simply fallen into the madness of the paranoia Sonia claimed he had been experiencing. She said he’d been feeling sick for quite a while, and that Nidai’s health hadn’t been any better, from what Akane had said to her. 

Akane couldn’t make it to the trial. She was too busy figuring out how to organize a funeral. Hajime feels awful for the kind of things she’s gone through. The empty headed nature is derived from years of abuse and an inability to stand people in power. Because Akane could never punch them into giving her fair treatment, and Hajime couldn’t either. She was set on the path chosen for her, but it kept her alive. Hajime worries about her sometimes, and the worry only increases knowing that Nidai is gone. He knows she can handle herself, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll have the proper self control to preserve her mental health. 

Sonia vows to take care of both Gundam’s four dark devas of destruction, and Akane, in the absence of their respective moral compasses. It’s agreed upon without much discussion. Souda looks shaken. They all part ways after that, Sonia driving herself and Souda to the funeral home to help Akane, and Fuyuhiko getting hastily rushed by his underlings to wherever it is he needs to be, not home yet. Hajime takes his beaten up car to the Saionji house to take any remaining possessions back to his home. There isn’t much. He takes the photo album Mahiru was making, and the camera Hiyoko was going to give to her, and tells himself to finish the last few pages. He has to. For their sake at least. He can’t just leave their memory behind, like he did so many others. He can’t just leave his problems as they are, because that’s unfair to them. This all happened when he arrived predominantly in their lives, and it’s his responsibility to at least carry on the good memories surrounding them, to give some credence to their name. They’re true, they were there, they had lives and families and happiness that derived from their interests. 

Life will move on. They will try to rebuild their social circumstances. Akane calls later on to tell Hajime she’ll be moving in with Sonia. Souda texts him about how he’ll be moving his auto-shop next to the coffee shop Sonia visits everyday. Hajime talks with Fuyuhiko on the phone for a little while, and then texts him an hour later. Fuyuhiko isn’t very good at taking photos, especially those of himself, but Hajime loves every single one he sends. Because like Natsumi, Fuyuhiko enjoyed capturing things in the moment, taking photos of anything he deemed important. Neither of them were very good at it, but it wasn’t the skill that mattered. Fuyuhiko sends one of him sitting in the back of a car, followed by another black car. Hajime knows this to be extra precaution. He sees the man from the sake sharing ceremony at the wheel. He can’t help but feel uneasy. He pushes aside, because he too could be falling into the same trap Gundam had. 

He always nearly retches when he sees the chair Komaeda had sat in, staring at him with intense disgust and hatred. He always had to close his eyes while walking to the guest room, because there was that one corner of the living room that he had stayed in, trying to wedge himself behind the the couches in a desperate attempt to hide from Komaeda. He can’t sleep in his own bedroom because everything about before is in there. He wants to move everything from the living room in there, but he gets sick every time he tries. 

His head swims and he has to put his hand over his mouth and squeeze his eyes shut and wait for the nausea to pass. As bad as it gets, he can’t give the apartment up. He can’t leave it. As horrible as it was there was still happiness reverberating through the walls, echoes of times spent at three in the morning nearly passing out as Chiaki kept playing games to completion. She couldn’t rest until everything was done, and although it was just for fun, she took it way too seriously. Nagito always fell asleep first, loose clothing making him look much smaller and weaker than he was. Chiaki would occasionally slip into sleep in the middle of a stage, and Hajime would attempt to pry the controller from her hands. Sometimes she’d be in the middle of something so hectic on the screen Hajime would feel compelled to complete it for her. She always woke up in the middle of it to kiss the underside of his chin and continue from where he was at. She was always better than him. He was okay with that. 

He was never good at games, but he was decent enough to at least be of some help to her. Nagito always had to play the lottery in the games, because both Nagito and Chiaki believed in his ridiculous luck. Hajime never thought much of luck, but some of the feats presented were daunting. He remembers all those happy times, the ones where they fought over who got the fluffy blanket during movie nights, and Nagito always won, even if he didn’t. Nagito always got the fluffiest blanket and two bodies pressed against him because somehow he always ended up shivering. Nagito’s health was always a concern. 

Sometimes Nagito would bottom out, and be fine for a few weeks, but most of the time he would be completely unable to complete simple tasks. Hajime worked, but he really didn’t need to as Nagito somehow had racked up quite the fortune. He never asked about it. Chiaki didn’t either. She stayed home with him most of the time, making sure he knew when to begin eating and when to stop. Sometimes he’d accidentally starve himself, or be unable to know when he should stop eating. He’d end up throwing up when he did the latter, bony body curled around the toilet, breaths coming in short gasps. Hajime was always terrified on those days, where Chiaki would look shaken and concerned as Nagito lay passed out on the bathroom rug. Hajime would have to pick him up and place him bed next to a tupperware bowl for him to vomit in if he felt the need to. 

Nagito had never been very good at talking to people, but it just kept getting worse. Nagito would say something completely out of left field in public, and most likely offend someone, before immediately shutting himself up. The phobia of hurting someone he cared about began to swarm him, and he’d end up trapped in the apartment until his skin looked like plaster, and Chiaki would have to drag him to the park. 

Hajime doesn’t recall exactly when Nagito turned into Komaeda. He knows Nagito had started to become violent, body decaying around him. Hajime knows it had to be frustrating to be unable to do what everyone else could do. Nagito hadn’t been violent, at least, not with others. He knew Nagito occasionally would deprive himself of water or food or medication as punishment for things he felt were important, and it was always important for Hajime and Chiaki to make sure he took his pills regularly. 

Maybe it was when Nagito went out by himself for the first time in a long while, because that was when the strands of blonde hair began to appear. Chiaki had talked to Hajime about her concerns. She had been finding strands of hair around the house, coarse and blonde and dyed and bloody, and was repeatedly finding Nagito staring off into space. She’d find him in odd places, hiding in the linen closet, or laying in complete atrophy underneath the couch with a manic grin on his face. He’d react violently to any attempt to remove him from the house. In fact, the horror of Hajime’s apartment, the one that chased him around relentlessly, evolved from Nagito’s terrible reaction to Chiaki trying to get him to his doctor’s appointment. 

It’d been hell. Nagito couldn’t even tell the truth anymore. He’d become flushed, and he’d sweat constantly. He and Chiaki had tried to get him to the hospital or at least a clinic for weeks, but he always somehow shut himself up in their room again, or chained himself to the toilet as his body convulsed violently to hack up whatever was in his stomach. Sometimes they’d see hair inside of it. Chiaki had been petrified. 

Hajime had no idea what to even think at the time, hand clutched tightly at his own neck to stifle the feeling that he was the one with blood and hair on his lips that dripped down into an unrecognizable sludge beneath him. It’d been terrifying to stare at a body already wracked with so many cruel illnesses to be plagued by something like this, because Chiaki had said this couldn’t be the dementia, and the lymphoma wasn’t that far along yet, he’d still be able to eat. She said this was something else entirely. Hajime hadn’t fully believed her at the time, but even then it was easy to see the suffering that was written across Nagito’s pale face then, pasty and gleaming with cold sweat, and yet he was always flushed. His body’s temperature was at a dangerous low, and yet he seemed to continue complaining about being far too hot. He wouldn’t let Hajime eat in front of him, always knocking the food out of his hands as if it were poisonous. He’d scream, eyes filled with such a terrible panic. It had been the most awful thing to witness. 

Of course, none of these symptoms had mattered until Hajime had finally had it click in his head as to what the strands of blonde hair meant. It had appeared everywhere in these awful horrible crimes committed by good people who otherwise wouldn’t be able to even think of the actions they did. The blood at the corner of Mikan’s mouth. The horrible terrible paranoia Gundam had expressed prior to the murder of Nidai. The way Sato had gone completely off the rails before she brutally murdered Natsumi, and how Mahiru had been just unhinged enough to cover for her even if it meant automatic execution. It was why Hiyoko had reacted so violently in response to Mahiru’s death, and called for Fuyuhiko’s blood to be spilled, and why Peko had offered herself up instead. All the self sacrifice, all the unnecessary deaths derived from an abstract sickness that overtook them all. 

The image of the cackling man from the sake sharing ceremony in the car behind Fuyuhiko arises in the back of his mind, pushing forward to the forefront in a deafening roar of realization. His heart jumps into his throat, as he cautiously peels himself out of bed to the sound of pacing footsteps pausing, muffled from the distance, at his front door. He knows he’s far too late when he hears wood splitting. His body goes lax when the convulsions begin, blonde hair clambering up his throat with the blood and bile. 

He never gets to tell Fuyuhiko that he cares for him so deeply, when the door is being broken down as he smiles up at the shadowed face above him. It’s over. It’s finally over please let it be over.

 

 

Is it over?

 

 

He doesn’t know.

**Author's Note:**

> again, hmu @ http://mintyfreshtodeath.tumblr.com if you wanna see more of my garbage
> 
> also i really hoped u liked this cause this was a passion project and ive cried over it at least thirty times because ive had no one to scream to about it, so please, give me something to work with cause i kinda wanna continue this but i dunno if i should,,,,,,,,


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